The Price of Loyalty
by Juliann
Summary: Hunter's suspicions about McCall's boyfriend prove correct . . . and McCall pays the ultimate price.


Rick Hunter's peace and tranquility was interrupted by the sound of his ringing telephone. "Shit," he muttered to himself as he eased his body off the lounge chair on his deck where he was adding to his bronze tan by lying there in the full California sunshine. The blonde woman named Celine was lying on the lounge next to his, clad only in bikini bottoms, face down, moaning after the phone interrupted her sleep.  
  
He picked up the phone as he cocked his hip in one direction, his hand resting on it with his elbow parallel to the direction of his pelvis.   
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Hunter, I need you to come over ASAP."  
  
"Charlie? It's Saturday. I need a day off, man," Hunter answered with irritation as he looked longingly at Celine who was now flipped over, topless, sunning herself on his deck.  
  
"I know you do. But meet me at my house. Something important came up and I need to talk to you . . . privately."  
  
Hunter heaved a sigh as he rolled the toothpick from one side to the other in his mouth.   
  
"Oh, all right. Give me about 30 minutes to get over there and pick up McCall . . ." Hunter began before Charlie abruptly cut him off.  
  
"No. I need you here alone. Don't tell McCall you're coming over here, got it?"  
  
Hunter immediately grew alarmed. Don't tell McCall? Devane had to be kidding. But the tone of his captain's voice bothered him to the point where he agreed.  
  
"Not a problem. See you soon."  
  
***************  
  
Squeals of laughter came from near the pandas where 6-year-old Anna Gregory was watching the white and black larger-than-life teddy bears at the zoo while her father tickled her mercilessly. Dee Dee McCall watched them, camera in hand, as she took their picture, smiling to herself as she did so.  
  
"Dee Dee, tell Daddy to stop it," the child begged, her hazel eyes beckoning while fits of laughter continued to burst from her small body.  
  
McCall looked up at the dark-haired man named Mark Gregory, the man she had spent the last six months of her life with, and a sly smile crept over her lips. "Stop it, Daddy," she said slowly, grinning from one ear to the other.   
  
"Say please," Mark ordered her.  
  
"Please."  
  
"I love it when you beg," he whispered to her as he kissed her chastely on her temple.  
  
"Yuck," Anna said, grabbing McCall's hand and pulling her toward the elephants. "Stop kissing and let's go," she ordered. McCall just grinned as she let the child pull her toward the gray beasts as Mark put his arm around her shoulders. It was a beautiful day in a string of many. There would be plenty of time for kissing later.  
  
****************  
  
"Oh my God," Hunter said as he finished looking at the mug shots.  
  
"Then it's him, isn't it?" Charlie said as he put a glass of iced tea down on the table and reached for another bottle of Mylanta.  
  
Hunter hesitated. "Yeah, it's him. Unless he has an identical twin," he muttered. He looked one last time at the photos and rifled through the JCPenney catalogue-thick file on the Gregoria family -- and the one photo of Anthony Marcus Gregoria, formerly of Brooklyn, New York, taken over 10 years earlier stuck out like a sore thumb.  
  
Hunter stood up and pinched his nose with his thumb and his forefinger. This was gonna kill McCall. "So, what does OCID say?" he finally asked.  
  
"We have to pick him up. Before they do. The hit has been ordered, Hunter. We gotta move now."  
  
Hunter heaved a sigh for the second time that day. "I guess we don't have much choice."  
  
"Nope. Do you want me to tell her?"  
  
Hunter knew she wouldn't take it well at all, but figured it would be better coming from him than from Charlie.   
  
"No, I'll do it."  
  
*****************  
  
McCall forced her breathing to slow down as she looked into the eyes of her lover who rolled underneath her, drawing her body over his. Her dark hair fell to the sides of her face as she relaxed, feeling his hands caress her naked back. "Mmmmm," she purred as her eyes closed from the glorious feeling of fatigue that often followed lovemaking. She nestled her head against his chest, listening to his heart beat. With a six-year old girl around, stuck to either one of them like glue, sex was something that didn't occur nearly as often as either of them would like.  
  
"Don't fall asleep," Mark told her as he shook her awake. "Anna will be up soon," he said.   
  
McCall immediately tensed, forgetting that a child was asleep in her guest bedroom. She scrambled off the bed and drew Mark's denim button-up shirt up over her shoulders, its tails trailing down to almost her knees.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked her as he propped himself up on an elbow.  
  
"I'm checking on Anna, what do you think?" McCall told him.   
  
"She's fine, come back to bed." Mark's words were lost on her as her light footsteps moved down the carpeted hallway. She stood at the doorway, looking at the fawn-colored head of hair that was visible under the blanket. McCall smiled to herself, happy to find the little girl was still sleeping.  
  
She returned to the bedroom, closing the door behind her, and slid into the bed beside Mark, who promptly pulled her into her arms, his eyes still closed.   
  
"I can't believe I'm falling asleep in the middle of the afternoon," Mark mumbled sleepily.  
  
"The zoo will do that to you," she told him with a soft laugh, a smile appearing on her face as she recalled the day's events. She had a wonderful time with Mark and his daughter. She let out a deep breath as she snuggled into his arms and closed her eyes.  
  
*****************  
  
McCall awoke sharply, the sound of someone knocking at her door bringing out of her late afternoon nap. She pulled herself out of Mark's embrace and pulled on the khaki shorts she had worn earlier that were lying on the floor.  
  
"I'll get it!" came a little voice from the hallway, and McCall watched Anna race down the stairs. McCall trailed after her, amused at how the child pulled a chair to the door and then stood on her tiptoes to look out the peep hole, just like McCall had taught her. "It's Rick," Anna told her, jumping off the chair and pushing it out of the way.  
  
McCall's eyes narrowed as Anna opened the front door for Hunter, who smiled at the little girl and ruffled her hair as he came inside. McCall's expression changed when she saw the serious look in Hunter's eyes . . . a look she knew too well . . . one of apprehension.  
  
"Hey partner," Hunter offered, taking in her disheveled appearance. "Looks like you've had a busy day," he said innocently to Anna, a knowing grin erupting onto his face as he glanced at McCall. She answered him with a glare and a roll of her brown eyes.  
  
"We went to the zoo," Anna told him. Hunter liked the little girl. While he was not one with a soft spot for children, the little girl standing before him reminded him a miniature adult -- one that was much more mature than her age of six.  
  
"What do you want, Hunter?" McCall demanded, shaking her head with disappointment. It was their weekend off, and she had plans for dinner and a movie that evening with Mark and Anna.  
  
Hunter's expression changed as he watched a shirtless Mark come down the stairs. The 6'2" man who was only two years younger than Hunter greeted him warmly, offering his hand. "Hi, Rick," Mark said. "What brings you here?" he asked, wrapping his arm around McCall's shoulders.   
  
"Official police business," Hunter told him, not missing the look of pure annoyance from McCall. "Lookit, McCall, I'm not the only one who had plans. It's important."  
  
She sighed with defeat. "Fine. But do we have to leave this very minute?" she whined.  
  
"Yeah. Go get your own clothes on," he teased, pulling on the elbow of the denim shirt that was obviously Mark's. "I'll be out in the car. Sorry to interrupt," he told Mark as he turned on his heel and left.  
  
McCall turned and went to get dressed, with Mark and Anna hot on her heels.  
  
"Does this mean we're not going to the movies?" Anna asked, her disappointment matching McCall's.  
  
McCall looked at her watch and noticed the late hour. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but I'm not sure how long this will take. Maybe you and your Dad should go without me," McCall told her, looking out of the corner of her eye at Mark. His face was now adorned with an unfamiliar scowl, something she hardly ever saw from him.  
  
"We'll get pizza and go see whatever you want," Mark promised his daughter after a few moments, and pushed her in the direction of the living room. He turned to McCall and began to unbutton the shirt she was wearing, his eyes suddenly changing from ones of disappointment to ones of desire.  
  
"Don't be too late, now," he whispered, running his hands down the sides of her naked torso. McCall smiled at him and leaned in for a kiss.   
  
"Do you want me to come to your place when I'm done?" she asked him, her eyes suddenly smiling with delight at the thought. Mark never slept over at her house, for Anna's sake, not wanting to confuse her. But McCall was often at his house, but never "slept over" there, either.   
  
"We'll be waiting," he told her, pulling her toward him for a quick kiss and then pulling the shirt she had been wearing on over his broad shoulders. "Now get going before your partner starts honking the horn. I'll lock up."  
  
McCall finished dressing and after checking her makeup and pulling a brush quickly through her shoulder-length hair, went outside to join Hunter.  
  
She slammed the door of the car and looked Hunter square in the eyes. "This had better be damn important," she told him, and then settled herself into the seat and gazed out the window, refusing to look at him.  
  
*****************  
  
McCall couldn't decide if the hot tears suddenly flowing down her cheeks were from shock, sadness or fury -- perhaps a combination of all three. She shook her head again as she continued to look through the file that was strewn over the table in the precinct conference room.  
  
The man who stole her heart was the man she knew as Mark Gregory. He had brown hair a few shades lighter than hers, sparkling brown eyes, was one year shy of being 40 and spent his days earning a living as a computer programmer. He had a beautiful little girl named Anna, whom he adored, and he knew exactly how to sweep McCall off her feet.  
  
But the papers in front of her told her otherwise ---- the alias known as Anthony Marcus Gregoria had a rap sheet that put many of the perps she had taken off the streets of L.A. to shame.  
  
"Dee Dee, I don't know how to tell you this, but we're pretty sure Mark is one of the New York Gregoria brothers," Hunter had quietly told her. Their conversation that ended with Hunter leaving her alone to look at the evidence echoed in her ears. Contorted phrases kept coming back to her, as if Hunter was still standing there, holding her hands in his, as he told her that most likely, she had been living a lie for the past six months.  
  
"He left New York over ten years ago . . . He was believed to have vital information to numerous murders . . . He was on the run . . . His family is seeking revenge . . . His father just died and his brothers have ordered a hit . . ."  
  
It sounded like something from Mario Puzo's Godfather movies.   
  
She heard the door open and watched as her best friend entered the room again. "You okay?" Hunter asked. The blue eyes that she had found solace in over the years searched hers.  
  
McCall shook her head as sobs threatened to erupt from her chest. "I just don't understand," she finally said. "I just can't believe it. He's a computer programmer, for godsake, not a . . . not a . . . " she said, trying in vain to find the right words.  
  
"Mobster?" Hunter finished, frowning, knowing she didn't want to use that particular term, out of respect for him and his family - - - the "other life" that he had managed to get away from but always seemed to shadow him no matter where he went. She nodded her head.  
  
He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked at his profoundly sad partner. "Lookit, Mark needs to be brought in, at least for questioning. If we don't find out the truth, he and even Anna could be in danger," he told her. The mention of Anna's name brought new tears to her eyes. She loved the little girl as if she were her own.  
  
McCall dried her tears and took a deep breath. "I need some time, Hunter. And I don't want you to talk to him until after I do. I'll call you when we're ready, okay?"  
  
Hunter had braced himself for this, her very answer. "Time is of the essence, McCall," he urged her. "Don't let your feelings get in the way here," he added. "It's too dangerous."  
  
"Don't let me get my feelings in the way?" she repeated. She felt as if she had been slapped. "You've gotta be kidding me, Hunter! I love him," she admitted softly. She saw Hunter's surprised expression. It was yet another little secret she hadn't told him, the man who was her best friend. "What happened to being innocent until proven guilty?" she asked.  
  
"McCall, all I'm saying is that we need to get to the bottom of this. And notice I said "we". If we're right, and you go in by yourself and alert him, he could leave -- which would mean you would be an accessory."  
  
"Hunter, Mark wouldn't do that. He wouldn't leave without an explanation. I know him," she said.  
  
"You know him, huh? Yeah, right." The sarcasm in his voice didn't go unnoticed by her.   
  
Hunter was becoming exasperated, but forced himself to remain in control. He knew she would eventually become hysterically emotional if he continued to push her, and he tried hard to prepare himself for the verbal onslaught. "Guilt has already been proven, McCall," he said gently, motioning to the file. "This is him and you know it," he said in a quieter voice as he poked at the file on the table that she was gathering up into a pile.  
  
McCall glared at him as she gathered up the file, tucking it under her arm. "Take me home," she ordered, grabbing her purse and heading out the door.   
  
Hunter watched her leave and then began to follow. He had told himself earlier that he knew going into this that he somehow would be the son-of-a-bitch for being the one to break the news. But he also knew she would never forgive him if she had found out by someone else and he had known all along. That's what friends were for, he figured.  
  
******************  
  
Hunter pulled up to McCall's house and got out of the car, following her to the front door. She still refused to speak, and deep down, she knew that none of this was his fault. McCall opened her front door and was greeted with silence. Anna had picked up her toys and everything was neat and orderly as usual.  
  
She caught the whiff of mixed flowers in a vase on her end stand, the ones Mark had given her early that morning before they took Anna to the zoo. Her light on her answering maching was blinking with one message, and instinctively, she knew it was him. Hesitantly, she pressed the button, listening to his voice over the phone.  
  
"Dee, I convinced Anna to see the early show. The movie should be done by 7. If you get home early enough, why don't you come over when it's done and we'll have a late dinner? Call me. We love you."  
  
McCall whirled around and looked at her partner who was standing there with his arms crossed. "That is the Mark that I know," she informed him, pointing at the small machine on her telephone stand, as if it had been Mark himself standing there. "I'll talk to him tonight and try to figure this out. I promise, on my badge, that he won't leave. I'll take full responsibility if he does."  
  
"McCall, you are going to give him the golden opportunity for fleeing and eluding police charge. In fact, he's been on the run for a decade for godsake."  
  
"Mark would never leave Anna like that. Anna has no one else . . . no grandparents, aunts or uncles around. I know he wouldn't run off and leave her -- and I know he'd never take her with him, either. It would be too dangerous."  
  
Hunter rolled his eyes with exasperation. He was not going to win. But he also had to trust his partner. After six years, she had never steered him wrong.  
  
"Okay, fine," he submitted, albeit not gracefully. He was not a good loser, and he made it known to her. Arguing with his petite brunette partner was costing precious time. "You talk to him. But I won't back you up on this if he runs, McCall. You're on your own."  
  
"I didn't ask you to."  
  
****************  
  
McCall stood in front of her closet as she tried to banish the thoughts racing through her head. "What does one wear on a date with a mobster?" she thought to herself. The feelings of anger, hurt, resentment -- and the biggest one, denial -- floated through her brain and eventually traveled a path through her body to her heart and soul. Her heart constricted with pain as the cop inside of her knew that the evidence pointed to the man she had made love with less than 12 hours earlier.  
  
Her brown eyes wandered to the 3 x 5 photo of Anna, the six-year-old first grader who looked more like the mother she had never known rather than her handsome father, the one who stole McCall's heart. Perhaps that story was a lie, too, McCall thought to herself.   
  
She shook her head as tears sprang to her eyes. This could not be happening, she thought, easing herself onto her bed. Finally, she wiped her tears and took a quick shower, trying to rinse the sadness from her body. She chose a casual tan skirt and matching blouse from her closet, slipped on a pair of sandals and grabbed the file from her dining room table. Time was running out, and she was going to make the most of it.  
  
*****************  
  
McCall wiped her hands nervously on her skirt after she parked her car in Mark's driveway. She grabbed the file and then looked at it pensively in her hands. "Screw it," she thought to herself as she dismissively tossed it aside onto the passenger seat. After a quick glance in the rearview mirror, she stepped out and nervously made her way to the front door.  
  
The door opened immediately before she even grabbed the doorknob as she was greeted by a bouncing little girl who smiled from ear to ear when she saw McCall.  
  
"I knew you'd be here," the child said to her in the sing-song voice that McCall loved, her little arms instantly going around McCall's waist in a hug.  
  
McCall hugged her, her heart practically beating out of her chest as it competed for feelings of love and regretful sadness. McCall returned the child's affection. "Where's your Dad, sweetie?" she asked Anna. The child didn't have time to answer as her handsome father entered the room, carrying a box of pizza with him.  
  
"Hiya, gorgeous," Mark called out to McCall, his eyes wandering over her small frame with a look of appreciation. "It's your favorite . . . extra cheese," he said to her, bending down to give her a kiss. Without warning and on instinct alone, McCall bent her head to avoid his kiss, an action that didn't go unnoticed by Mark, to which he responded with a questioning look.  
  
"You okay?" he asked. "What's wrong?"  
  
McCall promised herself she wouldn't go into it in Anna's presence. The child was tugging at McCall's arm in the direction of the pizza which was now in the center of the dining room table. McCall gave him a pleading look. "Mark, I'm fine. We'll talk later, okay?" she asked him quietly, her eyes motioning toward Anna. Mark understood what she meant and nodded his head in agreement. But she could tell by the look in his eyes that he was absolutely clueless as to the depths of the discussion that would no doubt ensue once Anna went to bed.  
  
*****************  
  
McCall sat on the edge of Anna's bed, folding the child's blanket under her chin as she tucked her in. A ritual for them every night that McCall was at Mark's house, Anna lately preferred McCall's bedtime story to her father's.  
  
"Sweet dreams, Anna," McCall whispered to the little girl, who laid there like a cherub, her mischievous hazel eyes sparkling at McCall.  
  
"Dee Dee?"  
  
"Hmmm?"  
  
"Girls keep secrets, don't they?" she asked. "I mean, if I tell you a secret, you won't tell anyone, especially Daddy?" Anna asked.  
  
McCall smiled, trying to stifle a giggle of her own. The child was so serious that it was almost comical. "Well, that depends on what it is. If it's a girl secret, I promise I won't tell," she said, crossing her heart in an 'X'. "But if it's a secret that I think your Dad should know, I'll have to think about it first."  
  
The child frowned as her eyes darted back and forth with indecision. "Okay. I'll tell you. But please, don't tell Daddy I told you."  
  
"Okay, I'll try. What is it?"  
  
"Daddy asked me if I'd like it if you were my real mom. Is that true?" the child asked, her eyes suddenly gleaming with delight. "I told Daddy it was okay with me if it was okay with you. Please?"  
  
McCall's heart dropped. Of all nights to be asked this question, this wasn't the one. She fought back the tears that were burning her eyes. While she would have loved to wrap her arms around Anna and scream with happiness at the thought, the news of the day deflated her thought like a pierced balloon.  
  
"You know what, Anna? You're terrific, and I know I'd love to have a little girl like you someday," McCall tried to tell her, smiling wistfully. "But I think that's something your dad and I need to talk about, okay?"  
  
The child was pleased with McCall's roundabout answer. "Okay. But don't tell Dad I told you."  
  
"I won't, I promise."  
  
McCall turned the bedside lamp off and turned away so that Anna couldn't see the tears that she could no longer hold back. Damn Mark anyway.  
  
***************  
  
McCall slowly made her way to the living room where Mark was waiting for her, a puzzled expression on his face. "Is she all settled in?" he asked her.  
  
McCall simply nodded her head. Before she could pursue further conversation, the tell-tale beep-beep-beep sound of her pager interrupted her thoughts. She heard Mark curse under his breath at the sound. McCall ignored him and dialed the number from Mark's phone, watching him fold his arms over his chest as he watched her in frustration.  
  
"Hi, it's me," she told Hunter.   
  
"Are you ready yet?" Hunter asked her.  
  
"No. I just got here."  
  
"You've got an hour. I'll be at his front door in an hour, McCall. Got it? Charlie is practically having a stroke as it is over this. And frankly, so am I. I don't like the thought of you being over there without backup."  
  
"For godsake, Hunter, give it rest," she seethed into the telephone before she hung up on him. The two main men in her life were making her crazy.  
  
McCall hung up the phone and prepared herself for Mark's verbal onslaught. She didn't have to wait too long.  
  
"Okay, Dee Dee. What's going on? What is so important that you have to work and be paged on your weekend off?" he demanded.   
  
McCall could no longer keep the feelings inside at bay. "Well, maybe I should be asking YOU that question . . . Anthony." Her dark eyes narrowed as she said his real name.  
  
McCall watched Mark's jaw slack open in surprise. His angry demeanor changed in an instant as recognition of what instigated McCall's bad mood showed on his face.  
  
"I was hoping I'd get a different reaction from you," McCall challenged him bitterly.  
  
"Dee Dee, I can explain," Mark began before she cut him off.  
  
She looked at her watch. "You've got about 45 minutes to explain before Hunter breaks your door in. So you better be quick," McCall told him. She made her way to his couch and settled herself there, crossing her arms and her legs as she eyed him expectantly.   
  
Mark sat down on the edge of the coffee table directly across from her. "Tell me what you know," he asked her softly.  
  
"I know that you've been lying to me for six months, that you're Vincent Gregoria's son and you've been on the run from the NYPD for ten years," she responded, unable to disguise the hurt in her voice.  
  
Mark looked toward the ceiling and took a deep breath before he began his explanation.  
  
"Yes, my given name is Anthony Gregoria -- but I've gone by the name Mark all of my life. And yes, Vincent Gregoria is my father. But my brothers, Tommy and Joe, are my half-brothers. I was the product of a long-term affair between my parents. Vincent's wife is not my mother," he explained. He paused for a moment, waiting for a response from McCall. He didn't get one.  
  
"I didn't live with my father. I lived with my mother in Queens. My father supported us financially and sent me to college at SUNY. He promised my mother that he wouldn't involve me in the business," Mark told her, accentuating the phrase "business" with his index fingers and imaginary quotation marks. "He loved my mother very much, but he wouldn't leave his wife and marry her." He hesitated. "It just wasn't done in families like mine," he added.  
  
"But right after I graduated from college, he asked me to take care of his computer systems, bring them up date. I did it for him, no questions asked. Dee, I want you to know that despite it all, I loved my father very much." All McCall could do was roll her eyes in disgust. The man was a murderer.  
  
"When I was working on his computers, I came across some files -- important files -- ones that incriminated my brothers. I questioned my father and he made me promise not to tell anyone. I agreed, and I went back to Queens pretending to be none-the-wiser." Mark looked into her dark eyes and found an expressionless gaze. "I did as my father asked . . . but I also made copies of the files. I still have them," he told her quietly.  
  
"Shortly afterward, my mother and I found our house totally ransacked. I believed my brothers found out that I had made copies of the files. The stress literally killed my mother . . . she had a heart attack and died a week later."   
  
McCall's heart constricted as she watched Mark's handsome face shadow with unshed tears.   
  
"My father was furious with my brothers, and ordered them to stay away from me. In the meantime, I found myself with $100,000 in cash, a new social security number and a new identy . . . and a one-way airplane ticket to Los Angeles, courtesy of my father. He told me to start over and never contact him again. It was his way of fulfilling the promise he made to my mother."  
  
"So, I did just that. I started my own IT business, the same one I have today. I met Katherine, Anna's mother, a year later. We got married and Anna came along two years after that," Mark told her. His eyes wandered to the mantel of his fireplace where the only picture of Katherine remained in his house. "She hemorrhaged to death when Anna was born. That is the truth. She died and left me with a newborn baby, Dee Dee."  
  
His head bowed as he ran his hands through his thick, dark hair. "Without getting into a lot of details, that is the truth. The police in New York questioned me about my father numerous times, starting when I was in college. They thought I knew things and was involved in things. My father felt that my brothers were perhaps trying to incriminate me to get the heat off of themselves."  
  
He watched her closely. "Please, say something."  
  
McCall hesitated. Her brain was telling her to handcuff him and her heart was telling her to embrace him. "Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"I haven't had to tell anyone anything in over ten years. It's a chapter of my past that is gone. Until now."  
  
"Mark, Hunter came across a file from the NYPD. Your father died a few months ago," she told him softly, watching his eyes tear up again at the news.  
  
She took his hand in hers and leaned forward. "Somehow, your brothers found out that you are in L.A. The NYPD found out that there is a contract out on you. These things get sent to us as part of regular police procedure . . . and Hunter saw the file and recognized the photo in it. He told me because they're gonna be here in less than a half hour to pick you up."  
  
Mark's eyes widened. "Pick me up? For what?"  
  
"Questioning. That's all. Tell them what you told me. You have to tell them, Mark, or you're looking at being extradited to New York."  
  
He stood up and began to pace the living room. "No way. I can't leave Anna. You know that," he told her. McCall stood up and faced him.   
  
"Mark, you have to go. If you don't, you're going to be arrested. The file that we received from New York has you linked to the murders your brothers committed over ten years ago," she pleaded with him. He looked nonplussed.  
  
He paced his living room floor for a few minutes, running his hand nervously through his thick hair. Finally, he stopped and looked toward her, his eyes beseeching. "Okay. I'll go with Hunter . . . on one condition."  
  
"What?" she questioned.  
  
"I want you to take care of Anna, and God forbid anything should happen to me, I want you to keep her." His eyes darkened as he said the words. "She has no one but me, Dee Dee. She adores you. Promise me, if you have any feelings for me or for her at all, you'll do this."  
  
"Mark . . ." she began, unable to finish her sentence. She felt him pull her toward him and wrap his arms around her, a physical action that melted her resolve and her senses. "Yes, I'll take care of her. I promise," she pledged. She felt his muscles relax as she said the words.   
  
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he whispered in ear.   
  
McCall was unable to answer him. No one was sorrier than she was at that moment.  
  
*****************  
  
Hunter pulled the Monaco into the driveway behind McCall's Daytona. He pressed the area between his eyes at the bridge of his nose for a few seconds, a nervous habit he engaged in during times of extreme duress, and over recent years, most of them involved his brunette partner.  
  
While relieved to see her car still there and that she had come through with her promise that Mark would cooperate, Hunter remained untrusting of the man who stole his partner's heart.   
  
Granted, it had been over a year since it happened.   
  
He chalked it up to being a time where she desperately needed him and his only thought at the time was to console her. The feelings for her had always been strong, but he had always kept them professionally distant -- until then. Now, he was as confused as he had ever been. Between feelings of jealousy and ones of reason, the lines on his forehead seemed to have become more prominent as of late.  
  
Things had evolved since then, with both of them not speaking of the incident and each one of them moving forward with their lives. Celine was Hunter's latest conquest and Mark had likewise become McCall's object of affection. While Celine was one of the many in Hunter's datebook, he hadn't given his heart as freely as McCall had given hers to Mark.   
  
Hunter had often wondered if it was the child who meant more to McCall than the man, and then tried to banish the thought and attempted to be happy for her. But now this . . .  
  
He was brought out of his thoughts by the arrival of two black-and-whites that Charlie had insisted upon. Hunter wished he had a suit of armor in his trunk to wear as protection when his partner saw the ground forces that accompanied him. She would be furious.  
  
Hunter strode up the sidewalk, taking in the middle class house with its manicured lawn and jungle gym in the back yard. He actually liked the man he would be Mirandizing in next few minutes, which was a lot to say in retrospect of the other men in McCall's life he had previously scorned. Mark seemed to be totally devoted to his daughter, was a hard worker who took pride in his profession, and treated McCall with the respect and dignity she so deserved. He also liked to watch football and was a worthy adversary as a fill-in on Hunter's poker nights when there was an open spot.   
  
But one thing Hunter never, ever discussed was the subject of McCall. And it certainly wasn't going to start now.   
  
Hunter rang the doorbell and was surprised to see Mark answer the door. His dark eyes narrowed as he gave Hunter a once-over, and then a scowl emerged when he saw the black-and-white police-issue Ford Crown Vics in front of his house. "I was warned you'd bust my door in if I didn't open the door, so come on in," Mark told him, not trying to hide his sarcasm.  
  
McCall was seated on the couch as if it were any other night. Hunter strode in past Mark, a fresh toothpick in his mouth as he walked toward the center of the room. "Hello, Hunter," McCall said to him as she stood up and faced him.  
  
"How're you doin?" Hunter asked her, his voice a few decibels below what it should have been.  
  
"Oh, I've been better," she said slowly, a look of extreme hurt and annoyance in her dark eyes. Hunter watched her walk past Mark, not meeting his gaze, as she peered out the front window. Hunter cringed in anticipation of McCall's reaction.  
  
"Dammit, Hunter . . . what's with the beat cops?" she asked him, her voice raising a few tones.   
  
"Charlie's idea, not mine. Actually, he wanted six backups but I talked him down to four."  
  
Hunter eyed Mark suspiciously. He didn't seem nervous or upset, but seemed more ready for a showdown of some sort. He stood with his feet apart and his arms crossed at his chest. "Let's get this overwith, Hunter," he challenged.  
  
"First, I have to inform you that you have the right to remain silent . . ." Hunter began.  
  
"Oh, gimme a break," McCall muttered under her breath, shaking her dark head.  
  
"No, Dee, it's okay. I understand my rights, Hunter. Let's move on."  
  
Hunter shifted his weight to his other leg and put his hands on his hips. "Mark, I have to take you downtown for questioning. Do you want to call your attorney before we leave?"  
  
"Done. He'll meet us there."  
  
"Okay then, let's go."  
  
Hunter watched McCall's dark eyes glare at him, and then shift to ones of sympathy as she stood next to Mark. "I'll be down as soon as Tina gets here to sit with Anna," she informed him, giving him a brave smile.  
  
"Sorry, McCall. You can't come," Hunter informed her. It was yet another statement he wasn't at all happy to be making. He watched her jaw slack open in surprsie.  
  
"What do you mean, I can't come?"  
  
"You know exactly what I mean. You're not on this case -- consider yourself an innocent bystander. Charlie said if you come within a mile of the precinct during questioning, he'll suspend you."  
  
"I can't believe this," she muttered again. "Hunter, come on. You're okay with this? You're my partner for godsake," she pleaded with him.  
  
"Yeah . . . well . . . I think under the circumstances, this is for the best," Hunter told her. He watched as tears came to her eyes as she looked up at the man Hunter was going to put in the back seat of a police car.  
  
"It's okay. I'll be back soon," Mark promised, wiping a stray tear from her face and then kissing her lightly on the lips. "Let's get this show on the road, Hunter."  
  
"Gee, no handcuffs?" McCall said to Hunter as he passed her, following Mark out the front door.  
  
"Dee Dee, I'm not particularly happy about this, either. Have you ever heard the saying, don't shoot the messenger?" he asked as the uniformed officer near the door escorted Mark to the vehicle. "I'm sorry Dee Dee."  
  
"Yeah, I know. So am I." She reached her hand out to him and gave his a gentle squeeze. "Take care of him for me, okay?" she asked softly.   
  
He only nodded as he turned to make his way to his own car. It was the very few occasions like this one that made him hate his job.  
  
*************  
  
Round circles of smoke came from the open windows of the gold Lexus parked down the street about a block away. Two men in their early 40s took simultaneous drags of their Camels as they watched the uniforms escort a dark-haired man to the back seat of a black-and-white police vehicle.  
  
"No handcuffs," the one observed. His partner's lips curved into something that looked like a cross between a smile and a sneer.  
  
"Lucky S.O.B.," the partner answered. "Ya gotta love 'em, Tom. Damned L.A. cops think they're so smart. He must've put one over on her big time if they didn't even cuff him."  
  
"Yeah," Tom said. "Payback comes dear, doesn't it Joe?" He was answered with a hearty chuckle.  
  
They continued in silence, taking long drags of their cigarettes until they burned to just above their fingertips, watching the vehicles leave one by one in a caravan. Once the last vehicle was out of sight, Joe put the car into gear and slowly edged along the curb toward the house.  
  
Tom whistled quietly through his teeth. "Check her out, Joe."  
  
Joe took a look and observed the petite brunette woman walk into the house and shut the door behind her. He eyed her slim legs and small frame appreciatively. "A little too skinny for my taste, but she sure is beautiful. Hey, since when did Mark stop doin' blondes?" he asked.  
  
"Hell if I know. But he said she was gorgeous, and he was right," Tom replied. He reached for another cigarette and found an empty pack instead. Joe threw his pack at him and put the car back into drive.   
  
"Anna is gonna put a wrench into this, y'know," Joe told him as he pulled the car onto the street on their way back to the house.  
  
"Yeah, I know. But Mark insisted. I can't blame him for not wanting to leave his kid, though. Family first, Pop always said."  
  
"Yep. The kid's gonna throw a wrench into things. But we'll figure it out."  
  
"What time did he say the kid goes to school?"  
  
"8:15."  
  
"That should work out perfectly."  
  
*****************  
  
McCall stared at the device in her hand long and hard. She had made a mental promise to herself years ago that she wouldn't use it again. But she had never been able to throw it away, for fear that she would need it sometime for real and not have it handy.   
  
This was one of those times that she needed it and didn't want it. She frowned at the lock pick in her hand and then at the file cabinet in Mark's home office.  
  
She had searched and searched the entire evening, and it was now going on 3 a.m. McCall was bone tired but too distraught and nervous to sleep. After checking on Anna numerous times, she had come to the conclusion that if it wasn't in the stark grey file cabinets, it wasn't anywhere. She would find it, she knew. She had that ever-unloving feeling in the pit of her stomach, the kind that tells you that what you're hoping not to find will slap you in the face . . . the same kind of feeling a woman gets when she finds that half-empty bottle of bourbon in the corner of her alcoholic husband's closet when he's at an AA meeting.  
  
If she only knew what "it" was. And she had "that" feeling.  
  
Silently, with tears in her eyes, McCall picked the padlock and clicked it open in record time. Then she took to the upper lock of the cabinet, popping it quickly.  
  
She went through each drawer, finding files upon files of miscellaneous "stuff" that had no bearing or significance. Until she opened the bottom drawer.   
  
In a large manila envelope marked "Dad" were numerous floppy disks of various colors. She popped one into Mark's computer and scrolled through the material. The tears that were pooled in her eyes at the start of the mission began to fall in rivers down her pale cheeks.  
  
"Oh, Mark, how could you?" McCall whispered to herself as she felt her heart rip to shreds.   
  
After wiping her tears away with her fingers, she rifled through Mark's office supplies and found a carton of blank floppy disks. Cursing herself for never taking a good computer class, McCall did what she did best in these situations . . . depended on her common sense and combined it with her intelligence as a woman and as a police officer.  
  
In a matter of 30 minutes, McCall managed to copy each disk successfully. She put the originals back into the drawer and locked up the cabinet. It was after 4 a.m. when she popped the trunk of her Daytona and buried the copies under the trunk floor with her spare tire.  
  
She settled herself onto Mark's couch and reached for the phone, dialing the number she knew without even looking.  
  
"Sergeant Hunter, please. This is Sergeant McCall."  
  
After a few brief minutes, the sound of her partner's tired voice greeted her. A feeling of relief and warmth flooded through her.  
  
"I have something for you. Stall him until I can get Anna to school," she directed. After a few vague sentences spoken between them, she managed to hang up the phone, after which she promptly succumbed to more tears.   
  
But this time, she was crying for the little girl asleep in the upstairs bedroom.  
  
****************  
  
Hunter stared at the dark-haired man being held for questioning.  
  
The story remained the same. Mark was unwavering, calm and not the least bit nervous. No wonder McCall fell for it.   
  
Hunter's conversation with his partner drove knives through his heart. And the pathetic bastard sitting at the wooden table across the room from him was the cause.  
  
Mark was going down.  
  
*****************  
  
McCall could barely stifle a yawn as she fixed Anna's hair. The silken strands kept slipping through her fingers as she tried unsuccessfuly to french braid it, at the child's request. Not a morning person herself, McCall had finally given in to sleep an hour before the alarm went off at 7 a.m.   
  
Anna's surprised reaction and squeal of delight at finding McCall asleep in the living room made McCall's heart soar and then drop like a pin-pricked balloon.   
  
"Where's Dad?" she asked McCall as she bounded over the couch and tackled her awake.  
  
"He had to be somewhere, sweetie," McCall replied, trying to hide the hurt grumble inside. "I'll take you to the bus today."  
  
And after a pancake breakfast and finally getting Anna's hair braided, McCall managed a quick shower and changed into the emergency set of clean clothes she kept in her car. The child's hand clutched tightly in hers, McCall escorted Anna safely to the bus stop where they waited only a few minutes before the long yellow vehicle turned the corner in their direction.  
  
"Will you be here when I get home?" Anna asked.   
  
"I'm not sure yet. If no one is home, go to Mrs. Howell's, understand?" McCall instructed. The little girl nodded her head and then threw her arms around McCall's neck in a childlike bear hug.  
  
McCall stood with her hands in the back pockets of her Levis as she watched the bus disappear. Slowly, she trudged back to the house, thinking only of how much she would welcome a steaming cup of coffee and her partner's warm embrace. She would need every ounce of strength she could muster from both sources to get through the day.  
  
***************  
  
"Tommy, she'll be here in 2 minutes," Joe said to his dark-haired brother, who was standing in the eat-in kitchen watching McCall walk back from the bus stop.  
  
"Yeah, I see her," Tommy said, pulling the safety off McCall's own .38 that he had found hidden in her purse. He motioned for Joe to move aside.  
  
The men were quiet as mice, each one standing on either side of the threshold, their ears pricking up when they heard McCall's light footsteps up the stoop.   
  
Tommy heard the lock click on the door and made his move. Quick as a cat, he managed to grab hold of McCall, twisting both of her arms around her back and pointed her own pistol to her head.  
  
*****************  
  
Pain startled her beyond words. She could smell expensive cologne and she could feel very large hands bending her arms so tightly that she could hear her bones crack. A startled gasp escaped her lips as a dark-haired man walked calmly from his hiding place to stand before her. Her startled eyes squeezed shut as the cold metal of a gun pushed into the side of her temple.  
  
"So, you're Anthony's main squeeze," the man sneered. "I'm Joe, his older brother. Pleased to meet you," Joe told her. "The man holding onto you so tightly is his other older brother, Tom."  
  
McCall could barely breathe.   
  
"I can't believe Anthony had the balls to screw a cop," Joe continued, his eyes raking over her body as he laughed. "But this just makes it all the sweeter."  
  
The last thing she saw was Joe's simple nod. The last thing she heard was the click of the hammer of her police-issue .38. at her ear.  
  
McCall never felt the thundering pain that blasted through her skull before her body crumpled to the floor.  
  
****************  
  
Hunter paced back and forth. Mark was sitting in the conference room, his back to the wall as he slept. It was 10 a.m. McCall was an hour late. He knew Anna had to get the bus at 8:30 and figured McCall would have high-tailed it to the precinct once the child was safely on the school bus.  
  
There was no answer on her car phone or at Mark's house. Something was wrong . . . he could feel it in his soul.  
  
"Get up, asshole," Hunter said as he jabbed Mark with his index finger. He pushed Mark toward the door and commandeered him outside to the precinct parking lot. He stuffed him into the back seat, and with tires squealing, drove to Mark's house.  
  
Thirty minutes later, while cursing L.A. traffic the entire way, Hunter finally pulled the Dodge behind McCall's Daytona. As fast as his legs could carry him, Simon at the ready, Hunter made his way to the front door.  
  
And then he saw her.  
  
One white and navy Nike shoe was visible in the doorway, propping the door open slightly. He pushed the door open quietly and found his partner on the floor in the doorway, lying face down in a pool of her own blood, and her .38 clutched in her right hand.  
  
****************  
  
Hunter's heart momentarily stopped. Sirens belonging to backup were wailing in the background as he quickly bent over McCall's limp form. Shakily, he placed his fingertips lightly on her still warm neck. Tears formed in his eyes when he couldn't feel the steady beat of her heart under her ashen skin.  
  
Hunter heard an audible gasp behind him. He looked up and saw the stricken look on Mark's face. Mark's eyes trailed down her arm to where the gun rested in her slack grasp. "Oh my God, Dee Dee," Mark said, crouching down toward her.  
  
And then, as if she had heard her name, Hunter felt it. A very slight thump under his index and middle finger. Slowly, Hunter turned her head to the side, and felt a whisper of life emerge from her slack mouth, a breath of air so slight it was as if he dreamed it . . . until he felt it again.   
  
"She's still alive!" Hunter said to Mark. "Go out there and tell them to call for an ambulance!" Hunter instructed Mark impatiently. Blood had seeped through her silken hair, in rivers down her face, a sight one only saw in horror movies. He grabbed a blanket from the couch and covered her.  
  
"Stay with me, Dee Dee," Hunter pleaded. He looked again at the .38 still clutched in her hand. No way, not McCall. He took a pen out of his pocket and used it to push it away from her body.   
  
Hunter looked more closely at the side of her head that was now parallel with the ceiling. An entrance wound was visible above her temple, and an exit wound that was now caked with blood was only an inch or two away, just at the hairline. Glancing around, spatters of her blood were all over the floor and wall, as well as a hole in the plaster where the bullet had finally come to rest.   
  
Sirens and screeching tires in the background signaled the arrival of help. Two EMTs began to work on her while a third one called in to the hospital, asking for a helicopter. In a matter of minutes, McCall's body was lying face up on a cot, intubated and hooked up to numerous tubes, wires and other apparatus.   
  
The words "extreme loss of blood volume" and "massive head trauma" reverbated in Hunter's ears. It couldn't happen this way, he thought to himself. And then he glimpsed the sight of an obviously distraught Mark who was leaning against a squad car, watching with wide eyes as they loaded McCall into an ambulance that would transport her to a nearby baseball field, where a life flight helicopter was waiting to airlift her over the L.A. traffic.  
  
He strode over to Mark, pulled Simon from his holster and pushed it into the space between Mark's frightened eyes on the bridge of his nose.  
  
"Tell me who ordered this, you prick," Hunter growled.  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Mark stammered. "You saw for yourself, she had the gun in her hand . . ."  
  
"Bullshit. Dee Dee would never end her own life over the likes of you. Start talking," Hunter ordered again, this time accentuating his order by pulling the hammer back on Simon until it clicked. "You may not have pulled the trigger, but you're to blame."  
  
"Don't do it, Hunter!" Charlie arrived on the scene to witness Hunter standing there with his gun pointed at Mark.  
  
"You know what this is, Charlie? It's called diminished capacity. No judge in their right mind would put me in jail for killing him," Hunter said. He watched Mark begin to tremble.  
  
"He killed her," Hunter admonished.  
  
"She's hanging on, Hunter," Charlie pleaded. "Let him go . . . we'll piece this all together. McCall would strangle you if she saw you doing this."  
  
Images of a laughing, lively, ever-loving McCall raced through Hunter's brain. Charlie was right, he finally realized. He clicked Simon's safety back on and then watched Mark let out a sigh of relief.   
  
He pushed Mark toward the uniforms. "Take him back to the precinct and hold him for more questioning," he ordered. He felt Charlie's hand on his back in a gesture of comfort.  
  
"How does it look?" Charlie asked.  
  
Hunter shook his head. "It's bad, Charlie. Real bad. I can't believe she's still alive, but she is."  
  
***************  
  
"You couldn't even pull the trigger right, could ya?" Joe hissed at Tommy as they observed the scene from their hiding place while the woman's body being wheeled to an ambulance.  
  
"I told you, she squirmed at the last second," Tommy told him. "She must have heard the click or something because as soon as she did, her head moved."  
  
"And you were twice her size, you big oaf," Joe argued.  
  
Joe quashed his cigarette in the car's ashtray. "And look at that pathetic brother of ours," he said, pointing to Mark who was standing near the squad car with the tall cop's pistol aimed between his eyes. "He's shakin' in his shoes."  
  
"You would be too if you had a gun pointed at ya."  
  
"Well, he better take this as a warning. He better not talk if he knows what's good for him. And the kid, too."  
  
"Anthony knows better than to talk, man. He hasn't said anything in ten years. He told you that last week when we saw him."  
  
"We'll see about that. Pop's dead now and Anthony has no protection."  
  
"Anthony's gonna hate us for this. I mean, he really liked her."  
  
"I don't give a fuck, Tom. He was screwing a cop, for godsake. We gave him fair warning. We told him to break it off with her and he pretty much told us to fuck off. We couldn't take the chance of having a cop in the family."  
  
"You'd think he'd have learned that lesson by now after what happened to Katherine."  
  
Joe heaved a sigh and lit up another cigarette. "Yeah, well let's hope you did a good enough job to this one, Tom."  
  
***************  
  
It had been hours upon hours since the shooting. Hunter drank way too much coffee and paced the same hallway too many times. Cops from all over dropped by, offering him their condolences and get well wishes to McCall as she fought for her life during surgery.  
  
"She's a helluva cop," one man said. "She's a fighter," another added. "We're praying for her."  
  
"Are you with Sgt. McCall?" a nurse asked him as he was staring out a window.   
  
"Yeah, we all are," Hunter replied, motioning with his arm at Devane and Lt. Finn who were seated there, and Navarro and O'Hearn who were standing nearby.  
  
"The doctor would like to speak to you," she said sympathetically, motioning for them to follow her. The group dutifully followed her down a maze of hallways until they came to an area surrounded by glass windows that went from the floor to ceiling. Three physicians were seen standing around one of the four beds in the ICU, and the tallest one left the group and made his way to the group of officers.  
  
"Hello, I'm Paul Rankin," he said, extending his hand to Hunter in a handshake greeting, "chief of neurosurgery."  
  
Hunter simply nodded, unable to meet the man's gaze.  
  
"Your partner, Sgt. McCall, is in grave condition."   
  
The word "grave" sliced through Hunter's heart.  
  
"She is alive, but we have no way of telling yet how much damage has been done by the bullet." The doctor hesitated before saying his next words. "Preliminary tests are showing some brain activity, and the fact that she was breathing on her own when you found her is encouraging. However, I will be honest . . . more than 90% of gunshot wounds to the head are fatal, if not from the gunshot itself, from complications afterward."  
  
Hunter was unable to respond. Charlie took the initiative. "When will you know more?"  
  
"I'm not sure. It depends on whether or not she survives the next 24 hours," Dr. Rankin told him. "The good news is that the bullet made a clean break between the entrance and exit, and only a small portion, a corner actually, of her brain was injured. The brain has been known to heal itself in situations like this, but as expected, her brain is swelling, and until that comes down, there's not much else we can do, other than wait. She lost a lot of blood, and she is on life support. I'm not expecting a good outcome," he admitted.  
  
The news was grim.  
  
"Has she awakened at all?" Charlie asked, searching for some small sign of hope.   
  
"No, she hasn't. And we didn't expect her to," Dr. Rankin cautioned. "She will remain sedated for at least 72 hours, so don't expect to come in tomorrow and see her awake."  
  
"I have to see her," Hunter said, his voice choked with emotion.  
  
Dr. Rankin didn't dare say no. He could see Hunter's pain. "Only a few minutes," he agreed, showing Hunter the door. He led Hunter toward the bed, and Hunter audibly gasped when he saw her.  
  
She was almost completely hidden behind tubes, wires, and other medical equipment. She looked small and frail in the big bed, her skin as white as her hospital gown. The front and side portion of her head where she had been shot had been shaved, and drains were visible at each wound. Her head and face were remarkably swollen, distorting her appearance to the point where she was almost unrecognizable. The hum of the ventilator operated in time with the rise and fall of her chest. The steady beat of her heart on the monitor, however, gave Hunter some comfort.  
  
"They say comatose patients can hear," another nurse said to him as she adjusted the bags hanging above McCall's bed. "I'm a firm believer in it myself. Talk to her."  
  
Hunter pulled up a chair and reached for her hand, small and warm in his own. He cleared his throat as he looked at her again, clinging to life.  
  
"You always said I'm a man of action, not words, McCall," he told her, trying to find some humor that he knew she loved. "I know you didn't do this to yourself. And I'm going to prove it. But I need you to come back to me," he said, as unfamiliar tears began to roll down his tanned cheeks. "Don't go yet, Dee Dee."  
  
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her. Thoughts of how she had changed his life in so many positive ways ran through his head like a documentary film. Chasing her down on Fifth and Los Angeles, asking her to be his partner . . . eat-in, take-out, frozen and canned . . . kicking ass and taking down names. And the most vivid memory, the one that haunted him for over a year . . . the one of her sleeping in his arms after they had given in to their inhibitions, becoming lovers as well as partnered police officers, even if it was only once.  
  
"Don't give up on me, Dee Dee. Please don't give up," Hunter pleaded with her. "I'll get whoever did this to you, I promise," he vowed, kissing her hand once more.  
  
He stood up and in one fluid motion, drew his sunglasses out of his breast pocket, slid them onto his face, and strode out the door of her room past his friends waiting in the hallway, never once looking back. And no one dared to stop him.  
  
**************  
  
Hunter stood crouched over the now-dried puddle of blood in Mark's foyer. His eyes in a squint, he looked back and forth from his notes, to the notes from other officers and then to different points in the house. His heart clenched to see McCall's blood spilled on the floor like a shrink's inkblot. Footsteps made him break his concentration, finding Charlie standing there over him, complete with his own notebook and manila file folder in his hand.  
  
"How's it goin', Hunter."  
  
"Shitty. What's the report say?"  
  
"Preliminary report says attempted homicide."  
  
"I knew it. There's no way she would have . . ." Hunter started to say before the lump in his own throat cut off the air to his vocal cords. The events of the day were strangling him. "What else does it say?"  
  
"Only McCall's prints were on the gun, although there was one partial that was smudged. No read on it yet. The angle that the gun was fired has them thinking that she moved her head right before the gun was fired . . . if she had actually done it herself, it would have gone straight across, not diagonally."  
  
Hunter shook his head up and down affirmatively. "Okay. What else?"  
  
"They're dusting her wristwatch for prints, too."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"The hospital called and said they found a hairline stress fracture in McCall's upper right arm, and bruise marks around her wrists and forearms, which means . . ."  
  
"Someone was forcibly holding her arms around her back," Hunter finished.  
  
"Yeah . . . so I sent a print team to get her personal things from the hospital to see if we can get anything. It's a long shot, but you never know."  
  
Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose again with his thumb and forefinger. "I can't fucking believe this is happening," he said softly.  
  
Charlie frowned sympathetically. McCall's shooting was taking a horrendous toll on the tall sergeant. "Hunter, Mark's not talking."  
  
"You're surprised?"  
  
"No, I guess not. Where is his daughter?"  
  
The lump in Hunter's throat doubled. "She's with a neighbor, Mrs. Howell, I think. I talked to the woman a short time ago. Anna goes there after school until Mark gets home from work. Mrs. Howell is gonna keep her until we figure out what to do with her."  
  
"I think Children & Youth should be handling the kid, Hunter."  
  
"No way. McCall would kill me if she got sent to juvenile. Let's give it a few days, okay? The kid's been through hell."  
  
Charlie hesitated briefly. "All right . . . but if we don't have a plan in a week, she goes to juvenile, right?"  
  
Hunter nodded. It was a quick, albeit interim, amendment for a bad situation.  
  
"You said McCall called you last night, right? What did she say?"  
  
"She said she found some computer disks in Mark's office that were questionable. McCall said she was going to bring the information in as soon as Anna went to school."  
  
"She didn't say for sure what it was?"   
  
"No, she was pretty choked up, actually. Charlie, whatever McCall found, it was big."  
  
"Did you find anything?"  
  
"No, I checked every damn drawer. The file cabinet in Mark's office was jimmied open, so whoever did this got what they wanted because there were no disks in there. Nothing."   
  
"Maybe McCall opened that drawer," Charlie offered.  
  
"No way. She's not strong enough to pry open a metal cabinet. Besides, she can pick a lock like that blindfolded," he said, a small smile coming to his face at the thought.  
  
A thought came to his mind. "Wait a minute. McCall said she had been up for hours, going through each one. And she said something about trying to figure out how to duplicate them. I'll take odds that she copied the disks."  
  
"That would be great if we knew where they were," Charlie said. "Obviously, if someone else did this, they were looking for those disks -- and probably found them. Where would she have hid them?"  
  
A grin erupted on Hunter's face. "Where she hides everything," he said, chuckling. He fished his keys from the front pocket of his dress slacks and smirked when he caught sight of the one bearing red tape on the end, the one that belonged to the locks on McCall's red Daytona.  
  
He unlocked the rear hatch and picked up the carpet, eventually uncovering McCall's never-used spare tire. In less than 30 seconds, he was holding a manila envelope full of computer disks, each one marked with McCall's neat handwriting. "Good girl, McCall."  
  
He held the envelope up triumphantly. "Paydirt, Charlie."  
  
**********  
  
Acrid black smoke billowed out from the campfire where two dark-haired men were seated in lawn chairs next to it, chomping on lit Cubans.  
  
"That's the last one, Joe," Tom reported, taking another drag from the cigar and chasing it with a swig of his Zima with lemon. "Fucking Anthony. I can't believe he still had those things."  
  
"What'd I tell ya? I told you he still had them. He had Pop snowed big time."  
  
"Well, now we can go back, right? I mean, the girlfriend's done and the disks are destroyed. Whatever happens to our little brother happens. He's not gonna talk."  
  
"I dunno, Tom. He looked pretty broken up this morning when they took her out on a stretcher. He just might roll over on us."  
  
"He wouldn't dare. He knows the consequences."  
  
"Yeah, well, I thought he knew it the last time. Besides, I don't know if I could off the kid. I mean, she is blood, for chrissake. Pop would roll over in his grave."  
  
"Well, Pop also thought his pride and joy had destroyed the disks. So he might not be rollin' as much you think."  
  
"Let's sleep on it, Tom. I must be gettin' old. I just can't take all this shit like I used to."  
  
*************  
  
Hunter watched McCall's body lie helplessly as the machines did the work for her. Her brow was bathed in sweat from the 105 degree fever that had overtaken her body. Infection, the injury's biggest nemesis, had set in. Megadoses of antibiotics had been started through one of the many tubes leading into her veins, now purplish and spidery under her pale skin.  
  
They had warned him that she might not survive the first 24 hours. It was 2 a.m. and she had six-and-a-half more hours to go to beat it.   
  
"You her husband?" a voice behind him asked, startling him.  
  
"No. Just her partner."  
  
"Closest thing to it, then," the buxom nurse replied with a smile, extending her hand. "My name's JaLisa. I'll be Sergeant McCall's nurse until 2 p.m. tomorrow." she informed him. He only nodded his head, his gaze turning back to McCall's swollen, perspiring face.  
  
"I guess I've worn out my welcome," he murmured to McCall, grasping onto her hand once more. He was limited to ten minute visits every two hours, and he had already been there for 20. He had hoped no one would notice him sitting there, but it was impossible for a 6'6" cop to be even close to invisible.  
  
JaLisa watched him sympathetically. "Tell ya what. If you wanna give me a hand cooling her down, I'll let you stay. We're short-handed as it is and I wanna make sure we do all we can to get that fever down," JaLisa said. The nurse put a miniature bucket onto the tray next to McCall's bed and put some ice cubes into the cool water. She threw a white terry cloth at him and then proceeded to pull the sheet covering McCall down.  
  
"My husband's a cop down at Hollenbeck," JaLisa informed him, shaking her head. "We've been lucky . . . not having to go through anything like this." She gave Hunter another long look. "My husband and his partner have been together over ten years. I told him they're like brothers . . . and he said they're even closer than brothers. I guess its the same for you two, huh?"  
  
Hunter had soaked the cloth in the cold water and wrung it out, and then carefully began to bathe her skin with it. "Yeah, we're pretty tight," he said as his throat choked again, realizing his words were the understatement of the year, perhaps the decade. As he watched what he was doing, he began to chuckle softly. "If McCall saw me doing this to her, she'd have a fit."  
  
"You keep doing that while I check the rest of my patients. She's gonna be just fine."  
  
Hunter looked up into JaLisa's eyes. "Do you have any idea how many times she and I have said that each other?"  
  
"Probably hundreds, at least," she responded, turning on her heel and leaving him alone with McCall.  
  
Hunter took another long look at the woman lying helplessly on the bed, fighting for her life. "You're gonna be just fine."   
  
*************  
  
Hunter allowed himself a total of 15 minutes to shower, shave and dress. He stared at himself in the mirror, examining his close shave. McCall would make fun of his silver and brown five o'clock shadow. He shook his head and then drew on his favorite blue blazer over his broad shoulders. As he fastened the clasp on his wristwatch, he noticed it was almost 10:30 a.m. McCall had survived the first 24 hours.  
  
He strode into the precinct, oblivious to the stares of his brethren. Hunter grunted one-word responses to the few who questioned McCall's welfare. Most of them already knew, and the vigilance of fellow officers at the hospital who stopped by on their way to their shift or on their way home continued. It was odd how they filtered in and out of the waiting room even though they knew they couldn't see her.  
  
Hunter knew McCall would be horrified if someone saw her in that condition. So he did what she would have wanted . . . politely asked them to stay away, but keep their unwavering faith.  
  
Charlie saw him enter the precinct and immediately followed him to where Mark was being held. His Irish gait was no match for Hunter's long strides, and Charlie eventually met Brad Navarro in the hallway who was looking after Hunter, who had gone into the interrogation room. Both Charlie and Navarro spent the night grilling Mrak, to no avail, who said he would only speak to Hunter. They took their places behind the one-way mirror, where they witnessed Hunter standing there, staring him down, his legs braced slightly apart and his arms folded across his chest.  
  
The grand inquisition would now begin.  
  
***************  
  
He stared at the dark-haired man for a few minutes. He thought perhaps his blood would have cooled down by now. But it hadn't. As soon as he looked at Mark's face, the furor began to build within him.  
  
"How's Dee Dee?" Mark asked.  
  
"She's alive," Hunter replied. Mark closed his eyes involuntarily, a sigh of relief escaping his mouth.   
  
More silence.  
  
"You look relieved," Hunter observed. "Is that because you actually give a shit or because you won't be charged with the homicide of a police officer yet?"  
  
Mark glowered at him. "You are so self-righteous," he told Hunter. "I didn't shoot her! For chrissake, Hunter, I loved her."  
  
Hunter reached over the table and grabbed the collar of Mark's shirt. "You ever talk about her in the past tense again, I'll kick your ass, you got that?" He let go of him and continued. "You didn't pull the trigger, certainly. But you knew your brothers were in town, and you knew something was gonna happen."  
  
Silence again.  
  
"Since you are unwilling to cooperate, perhaps I'll start things for you," Hunter began. He took the bag of disks he found in McCall's trunk and spilled its contents on the table between them, like two gamblers in Vegas ready to call their hands.  
  
"What the fuck is this?"  
  
"McCall copied these from your originals the night before she was shot. I found them in her trunk. Can't find the originals, though," Hunter said. "I'm sure your brothers got to them before they got to McCall. So, care to explain?"  
  
For the first time, Mark looked worried.  
  
"I didn't think so," Hunter said. "Y'know, I talked to McCall a couple of hours before your brothers put her own gun to her head and attempted to blow her to kingdom come, and there have been only two or three times since I've known her that I've heard her that level of absolute desolation in her voice -- once when her husband was killed, once when I found her on her bedroom floor after she was raped and once after she woke up in a hospital with a bullet in her back, paralyzed from the neck down."  
  
Mark blinked his eyes.  
  
"So, how do you think Dee Dee felt when she discovered that your murdering brothers killed your wife? And that you knew about it and didn't report it?"  
  
"I didn't know for sure . . . I had strong suspicion."  
  
"What the hell were you thinking?" Hunter demanded. "She was your daughter's mother, for crying out loud."  
  
"Don't you think I know that?" Mark demanded as he stood up and ran his hands through his hair. "They threatened me before we got married that they would kill her if I didn't hand over the information. I told them I destroyed it. I didn't think they'd do it. It was almost two years before I heard from them again . . ."  
  
"Right before they killed her."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You have exactly 15 minutes to decide what you want to do. You have two choices . . . sell out your brothers or go to jail."  
  
****************  
  
Hunter strode out of the interrogation room into the nearby conference room. He was followed by Charlie and Navarro who looked at him expectantly.  
  
"How's she doing?" Charlie asked finally.  
  
"She's hanging on."  
  
"Well, we do have some good news," Navarro informed him. "We got a print off of McCall's watch . . . it's a direct match to Tom Gregoria. Now we just have to find him and his brother, Joe."  
  
"Good. Good work," Hunter said as he ran his hands through his hair. He hadn't slept in two days and was surviving on adrenaline alone.  
  
"Now we have to get Mark to talk. We'll get 'em Hunter."  
  
"So, has it been 15 minutes yet?"  
  
******************  
  
Hunter plunked the manila file down onto his desk and did a mental jubilation dance in his head. Mark cooperated. Hunter watched as uniforms escorted him to the unknown house in the city's outskirts where he would be held in protective custody with Anna. He also observed the APB go out nationwide for the arrest of Joe and Tom Gregoria, accompanied by the list of their favorite hideouts, courtesy of Mark.  
  
"I was stupid," Mark told Hunter. "I never thought they'd do it. Joe and Tommy found out Dee was a cop and they freaked. They knew eventually it would all come out if I didn't hand it over," Mark told him. "They told me I had a week. But then the whole thing came down from New York and the next thing I know, Dee's telling me that the LAPD was looking for me."  
  
Mark looked at Hunter with pleading eyes. "Hunter, the only way they could have gotten the disks was to get me and her out of the picture. But you guys beat them to it when you brought me here . . . and Dee Dee was the only thing in their way. So they tried to kill her."  
  
"I want the truth, Hunter, is she going to make it?"  
  
Hunter slumped his shoulders and looked at Mark squarely in the eyes. "I dunno. They say she has a 10% chance, and I don't like those odds," Hunter admitted. "But I know McCall . . . mark my words . . . she's a fighter. I just hope she has enough fight left in her to beat this one."  
  
*********************  
  
Hunter held McCall's hand as Dr. Rankin turned off the respirator. It had been four days. The swelling was coming down and they stopped the sedation a few hours earlier. As Hunter gazed at McCall's chest for a sign that she was moving air through her lungs on her own, he chuckled to himself.  
  
Her words of years earlier echoed through his brain. "You're such a letch, Hunter," she told him after she found him staring at her in her favorite hooker ensemble. His response echoed back. "I can't help it . . . I'm a boob man, McCall."   
  
A smile broke out on the doctor's face. "She's doing it," he said. "She's breathing on her own."  
  
Hunter squeezed her hand and leaned down and murmured in her ear. "Now we need you to wake up."  
  
*******************  
  
Sleep welcomed Hunter into its warm embrace. The tall sergeant closed his eyes at the unorthodox hour of 8 a.m., falling into a deep slumber that filled his head with dreams of the past. McCall at his side, driving around LA in the '76 Dodge. Her laughter haunted him, her voice intrigued him, her smile tricked him into believing the nightmare had never happened.  
  
"Don't give up on me, Hunter. Don't let me go. I don't want to leave you yet. I can't see you, but I can feel you. I'm still fighting. Please, don't stop believing."  
  
He sat straight up in bed, his heart beating out of his chest, sweat dripping off his brow. McCall's voice was reaching out to him. He looked at the glowing red numbers on his bedside clock and realized he had been sleeping for 14 hours. He cursed himself for ceasing his vigilance.  
  
After a quick shower and arming himself with a 64-ounce guzzler of black coffee, he strode into the hospital at 1 a.m. It had been almost two weeks since the shooting, and although McCall was off the ventilator, her dark eyes remained hidden under her eyelids.  
  
The staff in the ICU were used to him now. They nodded at him as he strode down the hall to her room, his presence so common that he knew them all by their first names. The ten-minutes-ever-two-hours rule no longer applied.  
  
"Where the hell have you been?" JaLisa asked him as he walked in and took his customary seat at McCall's bedside. "I was getting ready to send out a search party."  
  
"In bed."  
  
"With who?"  
  
Hunter glared at her. Of all the staff, this one was his favorite. "No one. Celine left me." It amazed Hunter how easy it had become to talk to this woman, just now realizing how much they new about each other . . . and about McCall.  
  
McCall's shooting had taken its toll on his relationship with Celine, he figured. No woman ever understood the McCall thing anyway. Celine couldn't understand why he kept vigil at McCall's bedside, why he held her hand at every opportunity, why the hunt for Joe and Tommy Gregoria consumed what was left of his life.   
  
JaLisa laughed quietly. "Oh yeah? It's about time . . . she was no good for you anyway."  
  
Hunter smiled in response. "That obvious, huh?"  
  
"Even to a blind man."  
  
"How's she doin?" he asked, changing the subject from himself to his partner.  
  
JaLisa looked at him sadly.   
  
"The same. No change." She saw Hunter heave a deep sigh.  
  
"I dreamed about her. She was asking me not to give up on her, so here I am," he explained. He looked at McCall. Her hair was starting to grow back, and he began to laugh softly. "When she wakes up, she is going to have a fit when she sees they shaved part of her head."  
  
JaLisa laughed. "Nah. She's gonna be so happy to see you, she won't care."  
  
"You seem pretty sure of that."  
  
"I just know, that's all."  
  
Hunter settled in for the night. He decided to keep a regular routine with McCall since they took her off the respirator. In the morning, he'd read to her from the newspaper, watch talk shows, and eat his lunch with her. In the evenings, he'd sit with her quietly, silently begging her to open her eyes. If he hung out past 11 p.m., he'd darken the room and stretch out on the chair beside her bed.   
  
For some reason, trying to keep some normalcy in his life as well as hers was high on his list.  
  
***************  
  
JaLisa's nudge almost pushed him off of his chair.   
  
"Anyone ever tell you that you snore like a freight train?"  
  
Hunter rubbed his eyes and looked at her. "Yeah."  
  
"Hell, you could wake the dead."  
  
Hunter growled something unintelligible and looked at McCall. And then he looked closer. A flutter of her eyelid. Was he dreaming?  
  
"McCall? Dee Dee? Wake up. I saw you move. Wake up." He took hold of her hand and stroked it with his thumb. "Dammit, McCall, wake up."  
  
And then he felt it --- a slight squeeze of his hand. "I felt that, McCall," he whispered to her. "Now open your eyes."  
  
He heard JaLisa press the intercom. "Page Dr. Rankin to room 1010," she ordered. Her eyes met Hunter's. "She's doing it. Keep talking to her."  
  
"McCall, come on. You told me not to give up, so you can't give up, either. Open your eyes and look at me."  
  
Like the sun that had risen so brightly that morning, so did McCall's gaze. Hunter felt adrenaline rush through his body as he suddenly found himself staring into the dark brown eyes of his partner. Unfocused and dull, certainly, but they were hers.   
  
************  
  
Dr. Rankin practically galloped to room 1010. He found three nurses standing around his patient's bed and the tall sergeant bending over her, his voice pleading.  
  
"Dee Dee? Can you talk?"  
  
Dr. Rankin saw his patient lying there, her eyes slightly open, looking at the man standing over her. A slow blink.  
  
"Dee Dee? I'm Dr. Rankin," the physician said as he took a penlight and shined it in her eyes, joining Hunter from the other side of the bed. But her unwavering gaze remained on Hunter.  
  
Hunter felt her hand squeeze his again lightly, and witnessed her eyes begin to close again.  
  
"Dee Dee, don't go, please," he pleaded. He looked first at Dr. Rankin, and then at JaLisa. "She knew me."  
  
He saw the looks of skepticism on their faces.  
  
"I want you to be prepared for a long, tough road," Rankin finally said. "It's still very early in the recovery process. And its too early to tell how much of a full recovery she is going to make."  
  
"Not a problem. I'll wait as long as I have to."  
  
****************  
  
TWO MONTHS LATER  
  
Hunter stretched his legs out in front of him as he held his herbal iced tea in his large hand. He watched Mark Gregory pace the floor in front of him.  
  
"Will you just relax?" Hunter asked.  
  
"I need to know they got 'em," Mark replied, running a hand through his hair. Almost 3 months of living in the witness protection program had taken its toll on him.   
  
"Don't worry. The best of the best . . ." Hunter answered before being interrupted by a ringing telephone. He picked it up on the second ring, not breaking eye contact with Mark as he spoke.  
  
"Both of them? . . . . . I see . . . . . Yeah, I'll take him down . . . . . Good job."  
  
"Well?" Mark asked impatiently after Hunter hung up the phone.  
  
"We're going to the morgue. Your brothers didn't go down without a fight," he grumbled.  
  
Mark swallowed hard. "They're dead?"  
  
"Yeah. They're dead. We need you to ID them." Hunter watched a look of relief go over Mark's face.   
  
"Thank God it's over."  
  
************************  
  
Hunter walked into the rehab wing, Mark and Anna trailing at his heels. The time had come.  
  
McCall's road to recovery had proved tougher than Hunter had initially realized. Sleep consumed her time, with brief periods of consciousness. Only in the last two weeks had she been able to communicate verbally, her words slurred and scattered. And those consisted of one-word responses, only after an intense struggle for her brain to be able to communicate with her mouth what she wanted to say.  
  
Hunter had now permitted Mark or Anna to see McCall since the shooting. McCall had no recollection of the incident, and her thought processes were so encumbered that no one really knew what she remembered at all.  
  
Motor skills were also an impairment, but thanks to extensive physical therapy, McCall's body and her brain were slowly learning how to move in time with each other.   
  
Hunter stooped down and looked at the girl who had stolen McCall's heart. "Listen, Dee Dee was hurt very badly," he tried to explain for the thousandth time. How to explain this to a 6-year-old?  
  
"She might not remember you, so don't feel bad if she doesn't know you. And she doesn't talk a lot. But don't be scared, okay?" Anna nodded her head and grasped her father's hand tightly.  
  
Hunter put on a brave smile and pushed open the door. McCall was sitting up in her bed, her eyes closed. On her head was a denim hat, the front brim turned up, sporting a pink flower on the front. Hunter chuckled. After explaining to McCall what had happened, he showed her what her head looked like in a mirror, and even though communication was lacking, the look in her eyes told him that she was horrified. Thus, the large collection of hats in her closet.   
  
While Mark shrank back, Anna proceeded to get closer, her curiosity getting the best of her. "Is she sleeping?" she whispered.  
  
"Probably," Hunter replied. He took hold of McCall's hand and spoke to her. "McCall, wake up. You have company." Her dark eyes opened immediately, her mouth taking on a smile as she looked at Hunter.   
  
"Who?" she finally asked.   
  
"Over here," Hunter said, gently helping her turn her head for her to the right. He watched her gaze at Mark with a blank expression. Her gaze then drifted to Anna, and then back to Mark again.  
  
Anna came closer, climbing onto the bed, and then sat Indian-style on the bed next to McCall. "Do you remember me?" she asked quietly. McCall looked at the child, and then slowly moved her hand to stroke her hair.   
  
"Yes."   
  
Mark moved closer, and Hunter witnessed her trying to say whatever it was that her brain was trying to communicate to her.  
  
"You . . ." she began, tears coming to her eys. "Lied."  
  
Hunter was astonished. She remembered.  
  
"Yes, I did," Mark admitted. "I'm so sorry this happened Dee Dee, and that it happened to you, of all people." His words, while heartfelt, meant nothing to her.   
  
She averted his gaze and looked at Anna again. "Missed . . . you."  
  
"I missed you too," the child responded. For the first time since the shooting, Hunter saw a light of happiness come to McCall's face as she tried hard to carry on a conversation with Anna.  
  
"I'm hungry. Is there candy here?" Anna asked. McCall smiled at her.  
  
"Chocolate . . . " she told her, and pointed out to the hallway. Hunter seized the opportunity.   
  
"Let's see what we can find," Hunter said, extending his hand. "If McCall's been a good girl today, maybe we'll bring her some, too." He winked at McCall and was rewarded with a sarcastic roll of her eyes and a wave of her hand, shooing them from the room.  
  
She watched them leave, her eyes then meeting the ones that belonged to Mark, who had since reached for her hand.  
  
"Don't," she ordered, pulling her hand away.  
  
Mark heaved a sigh. "I hope someday you can forgive me," he said.   
  
"It's over," she whispered as she eyed him with disdain.   
  
Her whispered words sliced through his heart. "I figured you'd say that. God, Dee Dee, how will I explain this to Anna? She adores you. She's missed you so much."  
  
Tears rolled down her cheeks. "You . . . can . . . do it."  
  
"I guess I don't have a choice."  
  
McCall just looked at him, considering the irony of his words.  
  
"Me . . . either."  
  
****************  
  
Six months later . . .  
  
Hunter held McCall's hand as they walked slowly into the courthouse. She was determined to walk unassisted, at least without a device. Her hair had been cut to match the new hair that had grown back. She remained breathtakingly beautiful. Her road to recovery continued, and her determination to become whole again was the driving force.  
  
McCall smiled at her friends and coworkers who took seats in the courthouse, a show of support after Mark pleaded guilty to charges of withholding information and evidence about his family and their crimes to police. The numerous charges could cost him years in jail.  
  
Sleep no longer came easily to McCall, who worried incessantly about what would happen to him, thus affecting his daughter. "I don't love him, anymore," she confessed to Hunter, her anger easily seen on her face as soon as she thought about him. "But what is going to happen to Anna?" she asked.   
  
Hunter sat beside her as the judge made his way into the courtroom. The purpose of the day's testimony was to hear from both sides to determine Mark's fate. And Anna's.  
  
"The people call Sergeant Richard Hunter to the stand," announced the D.A.  
  
Hunter took his place next to the judge, and watched McCall first before he turned his gaze to Mark.  
  
"Your honor, I considered Mark Gregory to be a friend, that is, until the day he decided to put his family first over the love he had for the woman who loved him back, the same woman who is my best friend and my partner. He didn't learn his lesson the first time when his own wife was murdered at the hands of his evil brothers. He made a terrible mistake, and ultimatley, it cost Dee Dee McCall a lot more than what it cost him. I am just thankful that she is by my side again, and someday, she will be on the streets of this fair city putting people like Mark Gregory behind bars where they belong."  
  
Hunter took a long look at McCall. She had asked him what he was going to say. He told her truthfully: "I have no idea."  
  
"With that in mind, I must also say that Dee Dee McCall's love for Anna Gregory will probably never end. She loves that kid as if she were her own. When I see my partner lose sleep at night because she is worried about the welfare of a seven-year-old girl, I know what I need to do. The one thing about Dee Dee is that her heart is as big as the universe. It would kill her to know that Anna Gregory was turned over to the system. Mark Gregory is a good father, and he loves his daughter very much. With that in mind, I ask the county and city of Los Angeles to consider leniency when sentencing Mark Gregory for his crimes."  
  
Short and to the point. Brevity was all Hunter would allow.  
  
"Sergeant McCall?" the judge asked, looking from the bench toward her, seated in the front row beside Hunter. "Are you able to provide testimony today?"  
  
McCall nodded her head, and with Hunter's help, made it to the witness stand. After he seated himself again, Hunter watched McCall twist her hands nervously in her lap as her eyes met Mark's.  
  
"I've had a lot of time to think about things. Too much time. Time that I could have been using to work, to live my life, to be happy."  
  
"I loved Mark Gregory. I loved him so much that it clouded my judgement. My loyalty to him almost cost me my life, not to mention my career. Someday, I will be whole again, thanks to the support of my family and friends."  
  
Hunter watched as she fought back tears, determined to say what she needed to say.  
  
"I don't remember the man who held my arms around my back and held my own gun to my head. I don't remember him pulling the trigger. The last things I remember are images like pieces of jigsaw puzzles, and I am uanble to fit them all together. I remember finding out that Mark knew his own wife had been murdered, and how he lied to me about the circumstances surrounding her death . . . events that left his daughter without her own mother."  
  
"I loved Anna Gregory more than I ever thought I could. I miss her laughter. I miss holding her hand. I miss braiding her hair. I miss walking on the strand with her, eating ice cream and finding seashells. I can't say how many times I have thought about putting her father away in jail and taking full custody of her myself."  
  
Hunter observed Mark, who sat watching McCall as she poured out her heart.  
  
"But that isn't the answer. Mark is an excellent father . . . we had even talked of having our own someday. He is Anna's only blood relative. She has no one but him. I love her enough to know that it would do her more harm than good to be away from him. She needs a parent, and putting all that has happened aside, I know in my heart that Mark is the best parent for her."  
  
McCall took a deep breath and looked toward the ceiling for encouragement.  
  
"Your honor, by punishing the man, we will also be punishing the child. There are so many children out there without parents. If there is any way that I can keep one child out of the system when there is a parent who is able to do the best job possible, I will do it. Therefore, I am asking that Mark Gregory receive the most lenient punishment permitted by law."   
  
The judge cleared his throat as he watched McCall make her way back to her seat.  
  
"Stand up, Mr. Gregory."  
  
McCall reached for Hunter's hand and squeezed it.   
  
"Mr. Gregory, by withholding information from the police on both ends of this country, you put not only yourself, but your daughter and Sergeant Dee Dee McCall at risk. I've read the reports, and I must say, you are a lucky man to have the strength of a woman like Sergeant McCall behind you."  
  
Mark nodded his head. "Yes, sir."  
  
"As a judge in this system, I have the ability to send you to prison long enough to allow your daughter to marry and give you grandchildren before you see the light of day. Do you understand that?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"However, I agree with Segeants McCall and Hunter. It is obvious to me that you are remorseful. Now that your brothers and your family ties have been dissolved, I feel you are not a danger to society. Therefore, I am sentencing you to 25 years probation. Enjoy your daughter, because if it wasn't for her, I'd throw the book at you. Court is now adjourned."  
  
Hunter put a protective arm around McCall's shoulders as he led her out of the courtroom. "I'm proud of you," he told her.  
  
"Dee?"   
  
They both turned and looked at Mark, who was now standing in front of them with his attorney by his side. "I will never be able to thank you for what you did today," he said. "I certainly don't deserve it."  
  
"No, you don't . . . but Anna does," McCall responded. "Take care of her, cherish her and give her a good life, Mark."   
  
Mark reached out and took her hand, and then leaned down and kissed her on her cheek. He looked over at Hunter and shook his hand. "I'll request that you do the same as Dee has asked of me . . . take care of her, cherish her and give her a good life, Hunter."  
  
"You bet. Good luck."  
  
Hunter and McCall walked together down the steps and toward the car. As they were driving to McCall's house, she looked at him sideways.  
  
"I just want to thank you for what you said in there. I thought for sure you were gonna ask for a public hanging."  
  
He grinned. "Who me? Mr. Diplomacy?"  
  
She laughed at him. "Gimme a break."  
  
"Seriously now, how are you holding up?" he asked.  
  
"Okay. I'm glad its over."  
  
"So what are we gonna do when we get home?"  
  
"I dunno. I figure all the time I was in the hospital, you owe me a few dinners and at least a few dozen movie rentals. How does a large pizza with extra cheese and a movie -- my choice, of course -- sound to you?"  
  
"Sounds like blackmail. How long are you gonna play the martyr, anyway?"  
  
"As long as I can, Big Guy," she said.  
  
And he could have sworn he saw her wink, a devilish gleam in her eye that he hadn't seen in months.  
  
She was back. 


End file.
